


Needed and Wanted

by nothingeverlost



Series: Storybrooke High [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Violence, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She’s a girl and you’re three times her age.  How do you even look at yourself in the mirror?”  Moe stumbled as he tried for another kick; it was enough to give Nick Gold time to struggle to his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needed and Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt: “Storybrooke High verse: teen pregnancy. He knocked her up.”
> 
> Angst. I’ll just go ahead and apologize now. Not as bad, I don’t think, as I was fearing, but definite angst.

The parking lot of Storybrooke High School was dimly lit, half the bulbs burnt out. Principal Mills always left promptly at 5 o’clock, as she had a son to get home to, and didn’t care that there were teachers who stayed behind to work until the sun had already set. Invest in a flashlight, she’d told Mrs. Crewe once when she’d complained.

It was often dark when Nick Gold walked to his car; with school back in session and Belle back in Boston there wasn’t a reason to rush home. Today was no exception; he left the building and headed for his car. The shadows hid the presence of another person until a solid fist to his gut knocked the air out of him and dropped him to the ground.

“You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you.” Nick looked up, and even in the dim light he recognized the man he’d never met but had seen in pictures. Moe French. Belle’s father.

He’d been expecting this for a year and a half now.

“Mr. French, I’m sure we can…” He barely had enough air to breathe, let alone talk, when the punch was followed by a kick that narrowly missed his crotch. Despite the darkness and the fact he was already panting from the activity, Moe French knew what he was aiming for.

“You bastard. You fucking beast. What kind of pervert are you?” Another kick, too close to his face for comfort, had Nick rolling over. It still managed to catch his shoulder. It throbbed almost as much as his knee; standing a full day on it was bad enough without falling to the ground and ramming it into the cement. “She’s a child.”

“She’s a woman. An adult.” He fumbled for his cane, and was able to grab it before the next strike, blocking Moe’s shin. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, cloying and make it harder to breathe. He spat it out, and from the dark gleam when the light reflected he was certain it was blood. 

“She’s a girl and you’re three times her age. How do you even look at yourself in the mirror?” Moe stumbled as he tried for another kick; it was enough to give Nick Gold time to struggle to his feet. He winced, mostly from the pain but a little from the ‘three times her age.’ It was a well aimed arrow; the fact that it was two and a half times, not three, was no consolation. He was an old, cynical, crippled bastard and she was young and had a whole life in front over her. Sometimes he thought he was doing her wrong, staying with her, but as she’d pointed out more than once he was her choice, and she chose her own fate. And of all people Moe French did not have any say in what was between them.

“How do you look in the mirror? You have a daughter, a beautiful, perfect daughter and I know for a fact that I can tell you more about her life then you can. Do you know how many hours she’s spent at my home, not wanting to go to her own because you were either gone or drunk? How many times she’s tried to hide tears because you forgot something you’d promised, or didn’t answer when she tried to call? I have been there for her, Mr. French, every single time she’s needed me. You can’t say the same about your own daughter.” The fact that he had his cane to lean on was the only reason he was standing upright, and he didn’t know how long he’d manage that. Things with Moe were going to need some kind of resolution, but not tonight.

“At least I have a chance with my child, which is more than you’ll ever have.” Moe French’s face was a snarl that, in the dim light, looked almost like an animal.

“She’s nineteen, you’re not going to be able to separate us. I love her, and she loves me.” And damn if he was going to let anything come between that. For Belle’s sake he would be cordial to her father, but his already dim view of the neglectful parent had not improved upon meeting.

“Not my child, you son of a bitch. Yours.” He laughed then, an ugly thing full of hate. And Nick’s gut twisted, bile rising in his throat.

“What do you mean?” His voice wasn’t more than a growl, but he knew Moe understood. Moe probably didn’t even need the words; there was a self satisfied grin on his face that sent a chill down Nick’s spine. Fear and anger tapped a reserve of energy, and he rushed the man, hitting his stomach but more importantly pressing his cane to the portly man’s throat. 

“What the hell does does that mean?” The cane cut off too much air; the only reason he loosened it was to give the man room to speak. “You have thirty seconds, or I swear to god I will beat it out of you.”

“She was pregnant with your bastard, and now she’s not.” The last three words were carefully enunciated and sounded no different than bullets being fired directly at him. Pregnant. Belle had been pregnant with his child but something had happened, and now the child was gone and Belle was somewhere, alone.

“How?” His hands clenched tightly to the man’s shirtfront, his grip and a need to get to Belle the only things keeping him from pummeling the man. “Where?”

“Miscarriage. Or as I like to think, an answer to a prayer.” Moe struggled to free himself, but despite being more than six inches shorter and a good deal lighter, Gold held firm.

“Tell me where she is, right now, and I won’t tell her you said that about your grandchild.” he wanted to throw up. He wanted to beat the man until he was no longer moving. He wanted to scream in rage and pain for the child that he would never know.

“Why would I let you near her?” He pushed, hard enough that Nick staggered backwards, into his own car.

“You don’t have a fucking choice, you mealy little coward, and if you don’t tell me where she is you won’t have a relationship worth salvaging with your daughter. I have never spoken against you, not in all the time I have known Belle, not when she had to walk home in the middle of the night because you didn’t answer your phone, or when you forgot her birthday, or when she told me stories of being fourteen and having to take money from your wallet to buy groceries because you didn’t care about feeding your daughter as long as there was alcohol in the house. But if you don’t tell me where Belle is I swear to you I will tell her everything you said tonight, and everything I honestly think about you. And I will do everything I can to keep you away from her. Because she’s mine and I will do everything to protect her, even from her pathetic excuse for a father.” Nick was panting by the time he was done, leaning heavily on the car, but he’d made the point that he’d needed to make. He was also damn sure that Moe knew he was serious about keeping his promise. He never lied.

“Boston Hospital. The Lucas girl called, wanted to know if I could get ahold of you. My own daughter, and she didn’t tell me.” For the first time Nick could hear the pain that was under the anger. He couldn’t find a grain of empathy for the man, though.

“Your daughter didn’t have a reason to think you’d trust her to make her own choices, or even care what she did with her time. You were too damn busy losing yourself at the bottom of a bottle to see anything around you.” He didn’t have any more time to waste on the man that didn’t matter. He needed to get to Belle. Without a backward’s glance he got into his car and drove off from the man he’d left standing; metaphorically at least.

The trip from Storybrooke to Boston should have taken four hours. He made it in under three and a half, and it only took that long because he’d stopped at a gas station to clean himself up in a gas station bathroom. There was blood in his mouth when he rinsed it out, but when it ran clear after the third time he spat into the sink he figured it wasn’t anything to worry about. The side of his face was sore, with scratches from the rough concrete of the parking lot, but none of them were enough to bleed so he didn’t do more than wash his face with soap and water. For his shoulder and knee he bought Icy Hot and an ice pack. For the assorted aches and pains he bought Tylenol and a bottle of water. 

For the ache in his heart there was nothing to be done except to get to Belle as quickly as he could. He was glad there were no cops out, as he pushed the speed limit by fifteen and sometimes twenty miles an hour.

There was a parking space open right in front of the hospital. He fumbled in his pocket for coins to feed the meter. All he had was two quarters; a token gesture but he didn’t really give a damn about the car anyway. They could tow it or ticket it or drop a wrecking ball on it for all he cared. He couldn’t worry about how much time fifty cents gave him; he left the care and headed for the building.

“Emergency is down that hall,” the woman behind the admitting desk said the moment he approached her. The bruising on his face must be more noticeable under the florescent light then it had been in the restroom, if he looked like he needed help. He shook his his head.

“Belle French. She was admitted early because of a…” He couldn’t say it, not those words. Not to a stranger, when he hadn’t learned the truth from Belle. “I need to know where she is.”

“French?” A few touches to a keyboard and clicks of a mouse, and she was pointing to the elevators instead of emergency. “She’s on the fifth floor. They can tell you more at the nurse’s station.”

“Thank you,” he said over his shoulder as he made his way to the bank of elevators. There was no point hitting the up button more than once, but he did anyway. There was nothing else to do, as he waited, and at least it was the illusion of something.

“Belle French,” he repeated, once he’d limped from the elevator to the circular desk in the middle of the fifth floor. “I need to know what room she’s in.”

“Are you family?” The boy who asked him the question didn’t look much older than Belle herself.

“Yes.” The lie came easily. It wasn’t really a lie, though; Belle was his family. he didn’t need shared blood or a ring on her finger to make it so.

“Let me find out if I’m allowed to release that information.” The boy, Tray according to his name tag and wasn’t that ridiculous, looked around for someone to ask. Nick, with little patience, was about to start looking on his own; he knew she was on the floor somewhere, it shouldn’t take him long to figure it out.

“Mr. Gold?” A familiar voice had him turning around. Ruby Lucas looked more sober than he’d ever seen her, even when final exams were imminent. She was wrapped in a dark blue cardigan that he recognized as being Belle’s; it was the first time he recalled seeing her without her trademark red. “I heard your voice. I’ve been listening for it; the accent’s hard to miss, fortunately.”

“How is she?” The orderly or whatever he was came back, but Nick ignored him. Ruby knew where Belle was, and was a better judge of her state of mind than any psedo medical person.

“Tired. She’s been dozing on and off since they admitted her. She just has to stay one night, for observation. Nothing’s wrong except…” Ruby pressed her lips together, looking down. “She’s been asking for you, but in all the commotion her phone got left behind in the lecture hall and I didn’t know how to get hold of you. Your home number’s not listed.”

“Thank you. For being with her.” Because he hadn’t been and her father thought it was more important to hunt down the man sleeping with his daughter then go comfort her. Though, in a strange way he was grateful for that; he’d rather the beating then going home unaware of what had happened.

“She would do the same for me.” Ruby nodded her head down the hall. “I’ll take you to her room. She needs you.”

He nodded, and followed her until she stopped outside a room like all the others. “If she asks I’ve gone down to the cafeteria, alright?”

“You have money?” He reached for his wallet, figuring the least he could do was make sure she could buy food or coffee after being with his Belle all day.

“I’m good.” She waved him away, pulled the cardigan tighter around her, and with one last look inside the room headed down the hall for the elevators. Gold stood at the doorway. For the first time since leaving the high school parking lot the resolve that had moved him across state lines and up four stories fled. Belle was in the room before him. Belle, who was hurting. Belle, who was pretty and bright and young, and now sad and empty because of him. If he hadn’t been worthy of her before it was doubly true now. It was hard to take those last few steps, when he knew that she was waiting for him in a hospital bed.

“Nick?” The voice that called out to him was one that he’d rarely heard. it was the sound her voice had when she’d been crying, or once when she’d woken from a nightmare she’d sounded like that. He couldn’t resist that voice anymore than a man could resist a siren short of being lashed to a mast. He stepped forward. One foot in front of the other, and again, brought him into the room. There were two beds, but the one farther away were empty. In the closer bed, looking tiny and far too pale, was Belle. Belle, whose face was calm for just a moment before all her muscles tensed and she bit her lip, trying to silence a sob.

“Belle.” His cane clattered to the ground as he sat on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t pick her up, not with the IV in the back of one hand, but he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, not caring about the strain on his bruised shoulder. She was shaking, and holding so tightly to his side that she found bruises he hadn’t been aware of, but he didn’t let go until he realized the muffled noises he was hearing was a strong of apologies.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nick.” Her eyes, red and puffy, stood out in stark contrast to the almost complete lack of pigment in the rest of her face. Stress, he wondered, or loss of blood? Iron rich blood, that had been meant to nourish their baby.

“Shhhh…” He pressed his finger to her mouth, and then his own lips, softly. When he pulled away they tasted of salt. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for.”

“I didn’t know. Not until this week. I was going to come home this weekend to tell you. It was an accident.” Her hand rested on her stomach; she looked down at it, and Nick wondered if she was referring to the conception or the loss as the accident. He tried to think back, to the summer and when it might have happened. How. Nothing stood out; she’d been on the pill for over a year.

“You’re safe, love. That’s what’s important to me. You’re here and you’re safe.” Miscarriage rarely, he understood intellectually, threatened the mother. Physically she had probably never been in any danger, but that didn’t make it easier to imagine her bleeding and in pain. And yet she apologized to him, when it should have been the other way around.

“We were going to have a baby, Nick. I didn’t know until this week, I didn’t plan it, but he was ours. A boy, they told me.” She bit her lip again as her voice broke, and tried to turn on her side to face away from him. He wouldn’t let her.

“He would have been perfect, just like his mother.” He’d never seriously considered having children, not in a vague way or as a serious conversation in any other relationship. But in a flash he could see it, her holding a babe to her chest, smiling in that completely open and genuine way she smiled when they were alone. He could see her, too, leaning over a crib and stroking a tiny cheek as he stood beside her. He could imagine walking in the door of his home and hearing two laughs twined together in melody, as mother and infant laid on the floor playing with a rattle. his family. His Belle and the son that wasn’t to be.

“I was scared to tell you. We’ve never talked about it, and I don’t know if you even want…”

“I would have wanted him. I don’t know what I would have said, about the idea of kids in general, but one that already existed would have been part you and part me. I would have wanted him.” He didn’t feel the tear fall, not until she wiped it away with her thumb. He couldn’t help wincing when she brushed against a scratch.

“What happened?” There was just a hint of something in her eyes other than sadness and grief. If he’d been able to tell her anything other than the truth he would have explained the wounds just to distract her. She didn’t need more grief, though, so he bit his tongue.

“Nothing important. Just moving too fast to try and get here.” He rested his hand on her cheek; her hand still rested on his. “I needed to see you.”

“I needed you too. The whole time it was happening I kept thinking that all I wanted was for you to hold me and tell me that it would be alright.”

“It will be, Belle. I promise. Tomorrow I’ll take you home, and you’ll stay with me. The roses are still in bloom; I can’t go in the backyard without thinking about you.” It would take time for her to recover, physically. Longer, for her mind and spirit. He couldn’t let that time be spent without him.

“School…”

“Can wait a week or two. You’re more important. I’ll arrange for a sub; if you’d rather stay here in Boston we can, but you still need time to rest.” He kissed the top of her forehead. “I’ll arrange it with your professors, if you’ll let me.”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to think right.” There was a glazed look to her eyes. Exhaustion and medication, he hoped. 

“Sleep, sweetheart. There’s nothing that needs to be decided tonight.” Later he would slip out and find a doctor; the scientist in him needed to know all the facts, even if an answer to ‘why’ wouldn’t help Belle or bring their child back. He would also make it clear that Moe French was not cleared to visit; she didn’t need that right now.

“I need…”

“Anything, love,” he promised.

“You. Stay?” Her eyes pleaded with him. He answered her by laying beside her on the narrow bed meant for one, his arm wrapped around her to keep her close. Even as he tried to find a comfortable position he felt her, thankfully, relax against him. “Love you.”

“I love you, Belle, with all my heart. And I’m here with you, forever.” He’d never given much thought, to how long this thing between him and Belle would last. A few years, if he was lucky, but really he was glad of each day. Something had changed, though, in the last hours. Or maybe nothing had, and he was only just realizing the truth. He didn’t want just a relationship with her. He wanted The Relationship. He didn’t know if his future included children, but he knew it had to include her. She was his everything, and he was keeping her. Forever.


End file.
